the arrow and the star

Oct 1, 2016

Your tunes keep me awake until I finally can tell these visions of awe. The deepest I bury my dreams, the most violently they explode back into my veins.
I am still hanging in that tree, looking at the branches and memorizing all the leaves. Woods are not a cathedral they stand tall whatever the sismic activity, and no one needs to believe, a forest grows effortless, for free.
I know what comes first and what comes next. I have seen all those places and I remember them. I do not need a picture because it is forever in my head. I put my ass on the ground and stuck my fingers in the dirt, I saw the stars and felt the wind, it will clean the air tonight. I laid still staring at a tarantula, hoping I could freeze my blood, but she went. Like my friends, gone with the night. Up is my disco night, flashing billion years of matter birth.

Do you feel the flow? your blood rush, your breath, the wind swirl, the waves break, bird fly, mosquito dance, so much flow, just let go. The most intimate spasms shake slower than my running thoughts. You woke my words and I have begun to feel human for a few hours. If I could hear pictures and feel colorful emotions I would keep quiet, as usual. But you are nothing but usual, rare like gold.
Some drink, pill or smoke their mood to deadly stillness, I live the passionate highs that kiss me inside out, and acid torments that blaze my illusions like an arctic storm. Why buy what's already inside me?

I wish I could still cry, now I am too empty, there is no more baggage to unload. I don't want anything anymore, no wealth, no fame, not even you. Since I close my eyes with burning veins, I stopped caring. twinkling moons and soothing plants are my home, my safe, my care. All I can is dance and sing, and swim. I belong to the eldest beings, and I feel them like nothing else. I am a few million years apart, good night, sleep tight.

Nov 14, 2014

When you pushed that door opened, my heart skipped a beat
You waved at me while I had already rushed my glaze down
O boy do I know you? the cutest fashionable guy in town
I can't stand your stares, you're so naively hot, I try to stay away
But you take a step toward anytime I move back, I feel so shy
You sit so close I could feel you breath, I want to hide
You try hard to read into my stares, but I'm closed in, awkward
So you hum and ham: is this just my friend? or boyfriend?
O boy, I wish you were, but I'm not so free, anyway happy
Say my name again and promise we'll meet again, so warm
You wrapped my heart and stole a last stare, see you boy

Aug 29, 2014

I am a refugee. I want to go home but it does not exist anymore. I miss it so dearly, I can not rest, my eyes are dried from so any tears I cried.I am both a broken soul and a stranded stranger so we should not expect kindness and understanding from each other. No matter how kind it was to welcome me, it can not compare to the coziest loveliest home I had ever had. It is a rough time in a new world, a world I neither chose nor want.I had to leave not only dreams, but friends and habits. Anything that anchored me to reality has been wiped out. Do not ask for so many smiles, or you will get anger at your lack of compassion. I have taken on so many foreign clothes and forgotten so many of my ways that I can not recognize myself any more. I have become my blurred and shapeless shadow on a windy day.

May 2, 2014

I really like how these 2 people are in a tiny glass box. Instead of focusing on the smartphone, let's think deeper into the roots of WHY people need smartphone to 'feel' busy, rather than bored, or connected rather than disconnected.
1. Obviously as more and more people live in big cities rather than small communities in the countryside, they end up living in tiny boxes, called "flats/apartment/student room", they also have to put up with working in tiny boxes: cubicles, little desk in high glass boxes (skyscrapers?), they commute from their home box to their job box, in little boxes named cars, or metro/bus. Even babies are put in boxes: strollers
What can people DO in tiny boxes? they can neither walk, nor run, nor dance, maybe they can go the the big box (mall) and shop. Some people go to an exercise box (the gym) but most people find it too dull, and get bored. Boredom is sourced in the LACK of sensual stimulation of our dull box environment. And to reclaim sensual stimulation, movies, pictures and music is available 24/7 on our smartphones.
2. Freedom, Most fun exercise takes space: football/rugby, swimming, tennis, biking, golfing, etc can neither be done in tiny boxes, nor in big overcrowded ones. People need some space to move, unrestrained, for the same reason a free range chicken is superior to a caged one, people who roam free tend to feel better than boxed ones.
So people feel overcrowded, at least subconsciously, and to regain their personal freedom space, they turn to Internet, social networks, a virtually infinite place where they have all room to be themselves, rather than a number in a box.
3. Even though people may share big overcrowded space like a train wagon at rush hour, there is no feeling of personal relationship because these are fleeting moments and no one can see exactly the same people everyday in one's wagon, bar exceptions (but notice how we tend to get to know each other in this case)
Or those big places, like an open office are an apartment building are divided in small boxes (cubicle, flats), so that people don't interact and don't have to be social, or are discouraged to socialize (for productivity sake). Then again Internet and 'social' networks provide the solution by reconnecting disconnected urban dwellers with each other. It is also interesting to see more and more former city dwellers (like me), who keep connection to urban life (intellectuals, arts, people) through Internet, while moving to the countryside which is geographically disconnected from universities, governments and museums.

Apr 18, 2014

You can't see what I see, you can't feel what I feel but between those lines, you may grasp who we were, once upon a time, before life left us. We are childless souls bound to dirt particles. We are ghost upon Earth, weird wandering demons salvaging wilderness to ornate dangling flesh pieces. Our brightest star, Sun is setting the rhythm of our mental life, up and down with our consciousness.

If I lie to you as much as I lie to myself, you may believe I was real, but I was never oneself. I had been, I was and will always be a heteroclite bundle of feelings fading away and twisted within my memory realm. Those words are anamorphosed by the limited semantic range of my language knowledge and your own, necessarily different understanding.

Anything we feel doesn't absolutely exist, we merely compare now to somewhere before and evaluate how it values against. Sometimes we lack words for it and we forget. Somewhere else we are so profoundly moved we store all our now&here perceptions forever. However it only exists until anyone forgets about it, whether my senile brain or how to interpret those sounds and, or shapes, that we call language.

Mar 25, 2014

"many autistic authors turn to poetry, a form that frees them from constraints of syntax and story and permits them to focus on the perceptual qualities of the images represented and the phonological structure applied. In this domain of expression, autistic differences can manifest not as abnormal deficits but as abnormal skills". Belmonte (2008)
.

Oct 7, 2013

I don’t
believe in souls or gods, I studied hard and soft sciences and prefer rational,
logical explanations. So I genuinely thought I was immune to magical thinking,
only to discover that I still hold irrational beliefs.

My superstition
number one is: whenever I touch happiness, it slips from me as I reach to grasp
it. Therefore I have been suffering stupidly from avoiding to engage in satisfying
pursues that are dear to my well-being. As if doing what I love could make my
newly acquired happiness crumble.

That’s a
terrible mistake for three reasons: friends are not going to run away because I
do what I want. And if they did they wouldn't be true friends, so I shouldn't
be afraid of fully embracing my weirdness.

Secondly
forgetting that I need loneliness, physical challenges and a rather strict
(austere? ascetic?) routine can only lead me to feeling dissatisfied, unhealthy
and unable to tend those precious relationships.

Thirdly if
I focus too much on fitting in people’s agendas I forget that my dreams are
bigger, harder to achieve but so much more worth pursuing than some praise or
petty money. Finally there is limited reservoir of happy moments that would run out if I'm enjoying life too much, so only misery would await in the future. This is a scarcity mindset much ingrained from a mining metaphors: finite resources can get depleted. However if you live in the forest, you quickly realize that each spring leaves grow back and each summer fruit are ripe, unless you cut the trees...

Sep 30, 2013

My neurons
bathes happily in a unique hormonal mix I recreated by listening to last year
autumn playlist and dancing under the setting sunrays. Every move stimulate
different muscle and joints which boosts some blood rush to my glands and sends
a gleeful shot of soothing chemicals to mind. While I harmoniously stretch my
whole body in sync with psychedelic trance music, every tension is released
like burst bubbles that tickle my heart. Warm citrus colored sunrays melt my
heart as sparkles of emerald, sapphire and amber brighten up our eyes. Hair swings
like twigs and shines like gold and bronze. Sunset stretches over and over
again like a multiple orgasm coming in waves and surprisingly returning while
fading away until birches finally swallow the latest gasp of light.

I love
anything and anyone that comes across my wandering thoughts relentlessly,
blissful sensation. Just as sun blinds if gazed at too directly, love could set
fire to my mind. Yet I take steps and feel each moment bringing me closer to
beauty and peace, I leave fear and embrace love fully and I fall safely into fluffy
angels wings like the gentle pink clouds. After a frantic summer
marked by exhilarated senses, shared feasts and nightless dreams, autumn leaves
us hollow. Hopefully vacuum is space for love fed by many summer discoveries.

I love hard
and strong and if I fall and break, when I am healed the scar will remind me
that pain vanishes soon but confidence lasts a lifetime. I don’t hold back and
let each sun drop feed more energy, and I sink deeper into universal love. I
carefully tie memories to the nightingales, blackberry bushes and woodshed in
order to cherish them in the midst of the long winter. I weave colors, smells
and feelings so that I cling on them when I am desperately cold and hopelessly
lost in the black night. Thousand morning frostbites shape the northern child
into a passionate strong heart.

Sep 24, 2013

1. Critically because even a long
article from a serious source is usually only one side of a story. So reading
comments from various people is enlightening as they point various flaws, add
missing information and correct baseless assumptions.

2. Positively because it is easy to
feel helpless while submerged by catastrophes, injustices and abuse that are so
widespread in the human world. It is also easier to judge wrongdoers and point
blaming fingers rather than actively searching for a solution. Implementing
baby steps to support the vision of the world you want to see is what matters.

The author
links the decrease of children freedom to the observed increase in mental
disorders like depression and suicides in the second half of 20th century. The biggest
lesson I want to remember is that actively teaching something to children is
not desirable. Rather children should be encouraged to learn by themselves,
mostly through play. Children need mentors rather than teachers, and learn from
example rather than punishment and fear.

The next
link is both very upsetting and puzzling. My feelings switched from horror to
anger when reading the physical and psychological torture that some prisoners
endure right now in Russia.

A glimpse
into the comments put back the emotions into the broader picture of human rights’
violations which aren’t really limited to Russia. Unfortunately news about USA
jails depicted as sweat shops and recent stories of whistle blowers being
incarcerated for life have not really left any hope that the ”West” is actually
fighting for freedom.

Hence blaming Russia and asking or a boycott of business relations
or the Olympic Games (as was suggested due to serious attack against homosexual
people) jump to mind, but is this really efficient? Aren’t ordinary peaceful citizens
unnecessarily deprived by such actions?

China is the most populated dictator
state in the world; it executes many human beings regularly, forbids freedom,
pollutes heavily the atmosphere that we all share and breathe from and is well known
for widespread animal abuse. Yet the computer I’m writing with now is probably
mostly made in China, just as so many of our everyday objects.

I can
easily refuse to buy a TV made in China to watch the Russian Olympic Games
sponsored by sport brands that have their clothes & shoes made in
Bangladeshi factories. Instead I’ll walk the forest and pick wild food or play
with friends.

Aug 30, 2013

Listening 20
times to same song in a trance like state and singing to release emotions,

Thoughts’ turmoil
and feelings troubling my mind,

Sometimes
all I need is a muse, but this feels like an aborted heartbreak, a liquid
breach in my soul, flowing down the lagoon, clear, and saline like the Baltic Sea
water. I can’t stop looking into the light playing over the moving surface,
back and forth just like my thoughts, should I or not? These visions of my life
look so real and so illusionary at the same time that I can’t stop doubting
that truth could ever exist. Even my own image is ebbing and flooding, my unstable
self is lost somewhere in translation between what was and what is real.

When almost
everyone is gulping happily a vision of the future that has been designed by
some external media, I frown in disgust and stop looking. I may keep my eyes
open and see, yet my awareness is directed towards my taste. Do I like this or
that? Do I prefer these or those? Where do I want to be? Who do I really want
to hug? What is it that I really would like to do if I were totally free?

No I don’t
really question myself rather I visualise what feels good, nice and
pleasurable. I overindulge in my fantasized hedonist inner paradise. The more I
daydreamed, the more I could see how it would look like. And from these first
images my imagination built scenarios which would get modified with acquired
experience and painful mistakes. I don’t question myself but I adjust the
parameters of the dream world.

Aug 17, 2013

I feel
secure. There is a safety net all around me when I close my eyes. Suddenly I
hold them open yet the panoramic scenery is unfolding without robbing my inner
vision. From this third eye I visualise a multi-dimensional matrix of
connexions all around me while wild awake. It looks like a spider web. Any thread
is sticky and incidentally unbreakable. I can fall a long way without fear. A
corner of my mind intuitively infers the protective knots from a dumbing
massive influx of information. Somewhere knots tie dozens of thread together,
other places are simple crossroads. Most threads are so thin that I barely
notice them, bar their glimmer, although it appears thicker randomly anywhere.
Is the flow disrupted?

Dreams
about flying and nightmares about free falling are over. Each step in life
evolves along selected uneven mats of threads and they can be jumped to and
from. This does not require flight nor fall. If any step is neither right nor
wrong then an obvious property of the web is amorality. Each thread is shiny
and reflects a soothing strong white light usually. Any time vibration along
threads may diffract light rays, so harmony distils selected scope of the
rainbow towards the higher frequencies: blue, indigo, and violet.

Striking
various chords in a chosen order plays the music of causation. The outcome of
this deterministic song seems as hazardous as the success of a new tune. However
music is exquisite when a virtuoso is crawling on the web of imagination. Intuitions
appear as colourful sounds embedded in time and space. It is not only vain but
futile to tear apart the web in order to locate where and when it happens. It happens
within a frame that is ephemeral. Observing the frame is like catching time. I
can count second but I would be a fool to pretend that this second is like last
second. Otherwise time would stop to flow. Life is not, life has become.

Oct 26, 2012

And my feet didn't slip on the wet boulders paving the stream flow. A flip flop at a time I squeeze tight my toes on rounded rocks and defy the ambient humidity pearling on my forehead. It's too hot, as usual, but evergreen leaves bar sun from burning my skin. I lower my gravity center on my knees and quietly crawl up to the fountain. I can finally dip into freshwater and get cool.

...

It was so cold and I couldn't count on a faint sun to warm me. Trees looked unfriendly with all their nude branches spiking thorns and dry barren pikes. Even the dusty ground was covered with brittle desiccated leaves cut like broken glass yet we all had to crawl on our ass downhill. Soon enough our palms were bruised and bleeding but hunger kept us from complaining. In the end it was just tree hugging and back up on the hands in order to get dirty on any inch of our clothes/skin that remained clean ...

Why did energy flow likewise? what is the common trigger of "oceanic" bliss?

It doesn't matter if I'm alone or with a bunch of people, it doesn't matter whether it's cold or hot, dry or humid, in the Pacific ocean or in the middle of a populated capital in central Europe.